Taming the Harpy
by Cranky Crocus
Summary: McHooch story. A field trip for the professors to see their favourite team. A bit silly and fluffy, really. Reminds me of the time I wanted to write a crossover with "Taming of the Shrew."


"Are you aware that we're not at school?" Hooch inquires with her characteristic, nonchalant smirk. Everything is nonchalant for her.

"Yes, thank you very much," I reply as I lift my robes slightly once more to make it up yet another flight of stairs. My breath is coming slightly harder but I continue my most probably tedious speech. "I noticed the lack of cold stone almost instantly."

My companion holds up her hands in full innocence. "I was just making sure. You keep glancing around as if your students will appear out of the woodwork and demand their marks."

I have to laugh when she does. As true as it was, I certainly had to admit it was a spot ridiculous.

"Ah, here we are," Hooch remarks as she looks from the row of seats to our tickets and back again. Her eyes jolt up to mine as the largest smile I have seen in months zaps onto her face—everything about her at this moment is electric. I remain selfish enough to think that it isn't entirely the Quidditch match, but that she has also managed to lasso her mate away from school to join her.

"Wonderful seats," she tells me once more. I smile at her. I must have heard that phrase dozens of times since we bought the tickets. She hasn't spoken of much beyond the matches. I have been quite pleased to see her so over enthused.

"I agree," I murmur as I take my seat next to her. I gaze around our seat and pretend I'm not looking to spot student faces. I don't wish to see any here. It's silly, of course—they're probably all back at the castle studying. This isn't a final or even a semi-final match.

Just the Harpies.

"Welcome to the pitch, Holyhead Harpies!" the announcer booms over the now-roaring crowd.

Hooch screams and jumps to her feet as the Harpies whirl around the field. It is a dazzling display of green and gold. There is a blur beside me as Xiomara thrashes her arms through the air. She sports her old jersey.

I smile up at the players and turn to watch the other team enter after they are announced—the Pride of Portree, or "The Prides."

My love continues to watch the Harpies even as the crowd cheers the Prides on in welcome. Her smile is so bright that I dub it contagious. I move forward in my seat but keep my back perpendicular to the floor. My Hoochbird is happy.

The Prides take the Quaffle first—Xiomara frowns—but the Harpies are quick to swoop in and snatch it. The plays they pick are quite successful.

They use the Porskoff Ploy to score first, the flier shooting upwards to bring the Pride's best Chaser following closely. The Harpy then tosses the Quaffle down to her teammate and the new possessor shoots off down the field to overwhelm the Prides Keeper with a switch of hands in order to throw with her subordinate hand. The Quaffle flies through the goal regardless.

Hooch hollers and whoops, swishing a fist through the air. The first goal of the match is always exciting, tenfold if ones own team is then brought to lead.

The next goal goes to the Prides, but the Harpies soon take their lead.

First they surprise the Pride Chaser with a Bludger Backbeat, one Beater slamming her bat backwards to smash the Bludger hurtling toward the Chaser. It must have been a well-practiced move, for though it is often very inaccurate precision-wise, it hit right on target. The Chaser barely manages to barrel out of the way, and in the process drops the Quaffle. The Harpies score.

When the Prides' Chasers next attempt to travel down the pitch—the Beaters seem to be most inactive with the Harpies' Beaters often dominating play—they are caught off guard by Parker's Pincer play. The three Harpy Chasers fly from very diverse directions with great speed toward the possessing Chaser. As the Prides' Chasers were attempting the Hawkshead Attacking Formation—three Chasers close together, possessing Chaser at the forefront—there is little passing room.

One Harpy Beater successfully smacks a Bludger directly at the right-side

Chaser, who has to fly below the other two in order to dodge. With the three Harpy Chasers flying directly toward him, the Prides' Chaser is forced to drop the Quaffle to the teammate now below him.

It is a very risky move. The fastest Harpy Chaser swoops and snatches the Quaffle right out of the air, flying on through the clear pitch, as all the Prides' Chasers are in one bunch. The Harpy Chasers, however, continue on their way—they have no need to turn around.

The Keeper seems too shocked by the events to put in a valiant attempt at goal. It is an easy score.

To get up by thirty, the Harpies take control with conventional methods as their Beater merely beats the opposing Chaser to smithereens with a Bludger straight to the stomach. The opposing Chaser refused the Mediwitch but continued wincing slightly even as the Harpies scored.

The tension rises on the pitch as the Prides Beaters start throwing quick Bludgers at the Harpy Chasers during the Prides' possession. It is perfectly legal, of course, but no fan wishes to see the demolition of one's own players. The Harpies are quite prepared and dodge the multiple beaters for the most part, one being simply hit on the foot by a short-ranged Bludger.

It is a completely peculiar phenomenon to then see the Harpy Chasers float off and away from the opposing Chasers.

The crowd goes quiet. Even my Hoochbird. She darts a look to me.

I am sitting forward in my seat, my hands resting fretfully on my knees, as I watch the pitch with a craned neck. I am rigid.

She turns to watch the game again but I can see her biting her lip. She doesn't want to miss what comes next. I can tell she wishes to have a word with me—even as having a word, in a moment, will probably mean screaming over thousands of voices.

The Prides' Chasers are also perplexed by the now apparent lack of opposition. One even dares a glance around, looking to spot the Harpy Chasers. She is shocked to find that the opposition is already up toward the Prides goal, as if they have already attained the Quaffle and are ready to score.

She apparently communicates this to her fellow teammates as the possessing Chaser then shrugs and flattens himself to his broom. As he approaches the deserted Keeper he cocks his arm back, rolls impressively to the right to keep the Keeper guessing, and lobs the Quaffle.

Hooch screams at the top of her lungs as she sees the Harpy Keeper successfully perform the Double Eight Loop, flying high speed in loops around the goals to keep them covered. When the Quaffle arrives, the Keeper bopped it up into the air as if it was nothing and, before the Prides' Chaser could arrive to snatch it, spins around to strike the Quaffle with the bristles of her broom so hard that it flies high and hard over the Chasers' heads.

They are quickly back in the game, flying hard toward the projectile Quaffle. Unfortunately, a Harpy Chaser seizes it before they have the chance to regain possession.

Hooch hasn't stopped screaming. She turns halfway to me. To my own glee, she is laughing. It isn't at the game—it's at me. With me?

"Dear, I can _tell_ you're excited—there's no use in hiding it," she tells me. "Don't bother. Come up here with me."

I look down. My right leg is bouncing lightly up and down as quickly as a magicked needle would for easy seams. I gaze once more at Xiomara and smile, shaking my head lightly.

"You really thought channeling your excitement into your leg might hide it from me?" she questions with a clear grin etched on her features. I shake my head firmly this time to answer her question. She offers her hand and I grasp it lightly.

I'm surprised by her tug. I have to step forward in quick succession with the force of it. My motion halts inches before colliding with her. She lifts an arm and I feel it close around my shoulders. She presses me against her warm body.

With a light blush—I scold myself for it—I snake an arm around her waist. I feel her laughter as she glances over at me and winks, then bumps my hip gently. The Harpies had scored while she was speaking with me.

"On the count of three, scream," she whispers to me. My face goes blank, questioning.

"Why?"

She had been watching the field as I flew lightly toward her. She must know something I haven't yet grasped.

"Something amazing is about to happen."

I check the field even as I hear her counting. The Prides are in possession, a Bludger is flying toward a Prides' Beater while another Bludger flies toward the Harpy Beaters, a Seeker—a Seeker?!—is flying toward where the rebound might be, and…a golden blur!

As events play out, the Harpy Beaters amazingly perform the Dopplebeater Defense by hitting the same Bludger, together, toward the possessing Chaser. At the same time, the Prides' Beater smashes the Bludger toward the gold blur. As the Harpy Seeker positions herself, the Prides' Seeker steadily approaches.

The Harpy-hit Bludger pulverizes the Prides' Chaser, causing her to drop the Quaffle. A Harpy Chaser pinches it and throws it back over her shoulder. A teammate smacks it with her broom end way up the field to where the final Harpy Chaser hovers. She catches it in eager hands and throws.

The Prides Keeper is going for the Starfish and Stick, trying for a last resort to stop the extra score. He holds onto his broom with one hand and uses his other limbs in attempt to block as much goal as possible. His attempt, though brave, falters as the Quaffle skims his broom handle, sends him down a good inch, and continues at a barely-redirected path right through the goal.

Higher up, the Prides' Seeker used the Transylvanian tackle—much of the crowd booed—to defend the Snitch, pretending to punch the Harpy Seeker in the nose but stopping short. The Harpy Seeker shoots back an inch, ducks under the opposing Seeker, and watches the Prides' Bludger hit the Golden Snitch and send it flying.

The Prides Seeker has to recover from the failed maneuver and is thus a short ways behind the Harpy Seeker, who has her hand outstretched and is inches away from the small gold ball. She hugs the broom below her and with one tiny burst of speed captures the Snitch in her long fingers.

Hooch has just finished saying 'three' only an instant ago and all around us there are screams. I hear one coming from my love. With a smile, I realize that my own throat muscles are working hard as well.

The stands hold one giant burst of motion—those who hadn't been standing already are hurriedly scampering to their feet. Even Prides' fans are screaming.

The match we just witnessed was an amazement to fans of _any_ team.

Hooch stops screaming and smiles over at me. I can feel it. I stop screaming and turn to her, aware of the color that is coating my face from screaming so long.

"Yes?" I ask her at last. She grins at me and moves her hand to my hip.

"I was just watching you."

I would normally cock a brow, but I am too entirely locked in the moment. I only smile at her and point out that what she had told me was already quite apparent.

She pauses and leans against the railing, ignoring the rowdy crowd starting their partying before even leaving the stadium. I don't admit it to anyone, but I love the way she can make me feel as though I'm the only one there in her eyes even with crowds, evil, and whatever else is thrown our way. This is the perfect example of such a moment. My smile grows soft as I put my hand gingerly on the one of hers that is clutching the rail she leans against.

"I was just watching you, and I want to kiss you, is all," she modifies. She is the kind of woman who doesn't look away as others would after statements like those. It is another facet of her that I love. Now, however, I tutt at her with an approving lift of my brows.

"Who is stopping you?"

She doesn't answer. At least, not verbally. I thank her for that in my expansive, well-organized mind. Incidentally, I also shut it off.

Her lips are warm against mine. I was right to think she was electric. I don't bother looking for students—there aren't any here anyway—as I press myself up against her.

"You won, darling," I whisper into her lips as my eyes lock with hers. Amber hawk eyes gaze back at me, containing in their depths of honey warmth happiness that makes my heart sing. My Hoochbird is happy.

We stand together and silent for a number of uncountable moments. Her eyes leave me soaring through skies of unimaginable intensity. I feel free as I watch her eyes and, through them, watch the world from her perspective. In that I picture myself, prim and proper Minerva. On most occasions, certainly. The Minerva that Xiomara—and thus myself—currently views is free and undefined. I feel myself smile. Xiomara is my wings.

I continue to picture myself from her eyes. I am earthly, even with my logic as an ultimate guide. I feel the seasons change against my skin on a yearly basis and continue to keep my head firmly upon my shoulders. By forever doing that, I lend the strength to land to Xiomara. I am strong and tall, but I can be gentle to those in need. She has always told me that my heart outweighs my mind. Xiomara smiles fully at me and I watch it jump to her eyes, her lids providing the land to the sky in her eyes. I am Xiomara's perch.

We exist together. Why else would she land? Why else would I stand? We exist together.

When I see her open her mouth to speak, I nod and tug her forward to gather our few belongings.

"The Pub?" I ask softly. It must have been quite a reasonable time we were standing together. Much of the crowd has dispersed, most probably off to celebrate and recount the astounding match with heated, tipsy discussion.

I feel Xiomara drifting every few steps toward the pitch. I smile at the thought and decide to humor her fancy.

"Shall we walk the pitch? Surely you will be allowed, being an ex-Harpy yourself."

She smiles brightly over at me and nods vigorously. She reminds me of an excited puppy. I reach my hand out and grasp hers. To my surprise, she blushes as she looks down and intertwines our fingers.

I can't immediately recall being so happy. I decide soon after to stop trying.

The Harpy coach comes rounding out of the locker rooms and bowls into Hooch. Because of our interlocked hands, I am sent wrapping around the two of them and it ends in a group hug.

Thankfully, the Harpy coach is an old team-mate of Xiomara's and one I have already met and become reasonably close with. She is a good friend of Xio's.

"Gwen!" Hooch screeches as she uses her free arm to wrap around her friend's shoulders. I tuck off to the side to free my hand from my lover's and then step to the side to stand watching the pair.

"You came, you old hoot!" Gwen replies with an easy smile. She reaches up and musses Hooch's fine silver spikes. "I'm so glad to see you!"

"The same!" Hooch bats at the hand and at last ducks beneath it, throwing in a side attack to catch her friend off guard with a prod to her vulnerable side. "You planned those moves out brilliantly."

Gwen turns scarlet and bats the idea away, shaking her head. A long tail of dirty blonde hair drops down her back. It had been coiled in a hasty knot. The woman grabs for it and holds it at her front, still blushing as she responds to Hooch. "That was all the girls. I only make them learn and practice the moves. They plan out from second to second themselves."

She grins and punches Hooch in the shoulder.

"But you know all that, eh?" Her grin cracks open into a hearty smile. "C'mon and meet the team! I've told them all about you, Hoochiflier."

Gwen reaches out and grabs hold of me as well and then starts pulling us towards the locker rooms. Xiomara and I exchange a look from where we are being dragged behind. The two of us laugh. For some bizarre, unexplainable reason I stick my tongue out. Hooch crosses her eyes at me. We proceed to giggle like a couple of school girls as Gwen at last throws us into the locker—and the spotlight.

"Professor Minerva McGonagall," she introduces as she points to me. There is a small applause and a few faces gain recognition. She sweeps her arm over toward Hooch and booms, "With the Harpy's old Seeker, Xiomara Hooch!"

There is an outburst of applause and hoots all laced with laughter and great joy. I join in, stepping back to join the crowd and clapping for my love. Hooch bends over and makes a broad bow. One of the Harpy's hops over and throws herself over Xiomara's back, patting the opposite shoulder.

"Madam Hooch!" she hooted over Hooch's now-raised head. She winks at the Harpy and grins over at Gwen.

"That too," the woman adds with a smirk. "We've picked up quite a few of yours through our years, haven't we, girls?"

They all nod and smile.

"Raise your hands if you went to Hogwarts," Gwen instructs with an amused grin. Four of the women raise their hands.

I recognize three and the fourth looks familiar. I see out of the corner of my eye one elbowing the other, who taps the thirds' foot.

"We love you Madam Hooch!" they all howl at once. They approach her as well and throw their arms around her. Over their heads and through the crowd, Xiomara throws me a look of absolute bliss. I smile at her and surprise her once more by copying a gesture I have seen my students make—I create a heart out of my fingers and thumbs and place it over my own chest.

I think it is too much for Xiomara. It is the straw that sends her flying. Tears stream down her face as she gives each of her old students a hug, then Gwen again, and even the other Harpys.

They exchange stories of past and present. The group truly had heard quite a bit about the hawk-eyed Seeker.

"Is it true you're really an Animagi?" one woman—a Chaser—calls out.

Hooch nods and morphs into a hawk before their eyes. Gwen whoops.

One of my old students giggles and remarks, "I've seen Professor McGonagall do that, but I didn't know you could!"

"Well," I say, feigning tartness and taking on the appearance of the Professor McGonagall they would remember, "I don't turn into _fowl_, that's for sure. Feline all the way!"

The lot of them giggle as I morph and hop up onto the bench beside Hooch, swatting at her feathery head. She hops up onto my back and starts pecking at my tail. I take on my human form once again and feel a hawk sitting atop my head, rather than at my rear where it had been seconds before.

"If you relieve yourself, Xiomara, I swear…" I threaten. It takes quite a large amount of effort to keep a grin from my features. She flops down to my lap, flaps her wings once, and morphs back into human Xiomara Hooch, in my lap.

"Girls," she says from where she now sits, "You know you can call us Xiomara and Minerva now, don't you?"

I plant my chin on her shoulder and give her a look, but I nod all the same and let my eyes sweep over the women I had had as girls in class.

"She's right, of course," I adjoin. "Though I'm usually not as…open…as I am currently, it is still perfectly all right for the lot of you to use my first name. You have been out of the school for more than a decade!"

The group of old Hogwarts students look to one another, their eyes speaking more than their lips. It strikes me how in tune the lot of them are. It is now no mystery as to how they remain so together and receptive to one another on the field. They are a glorious batch of womenfolk.

"Sure thing, Minerva," one responds. As she tilts her head to the woman in my lap she adds, "Hooch."

"What, I'm not in on the game?" Xiomara whines, reclining back to rest on me. I look to the girl who had spoken and roll my eyes. Today I am simply full of surprises, it appears—honestly, Minerva McGonagall rolling her eyes. The ex-student chuckles.

"Nawr, we've just heard all about you as Hooch. Or 'Hoochiflier.' Or with particular moves, 'Hoochi_fier_.'"

The team cracks up. I join them. Xiomara sticks her tongue out and crosses her arms, but laughs all the same.

"Hey!" the Seeker—not one of the Hogwarts women—barks with a feral grin. "Why don't you two lovely ladies join us for a drink?"

"Sure!" Xiomara answers. She repeats the question I had asked so many minutes ago. "The Pub?"

They all nod enthusiastically.

That is how I find myself in the Harpy Haven, a well-hidden Pub off of a main street below a Muggle barbershop. The sign for the pub actually reads, "Pup Pound" and the windows, from the outside, are all boarded up. It looks like a terrible place.

On the inside it is an entirely different story. The windows have not truly been boarded up. Inside they are enchanted to see beautiful scenes—beaches, mature forests with sun speckling through the leaves, waterfalls, and even sunsets over the desert.

The lighting is low and layers everything with a soft golden glow. Most of the furnishings are green. The wall hangings are all posters of Harpy players and the Harpy team over different years. The team brings us to a back corner, where the poster of Hooch incidentally rests.

"This was my corner," she tells me as she takes her seat. She doesn't remember that she has told me this many times before, when she has brought me here over the years. When she first became a teacher at Hogwarts, after we had finally found our way through our differences, she had taken me here. It could never be as special to me as it was to her, but it has had a special place in my heart since then.

I order my normal gillywater—I don't feel like drinking even on such an occasion, and Xiomara never presses me—and listen to the conversation.

Hooch slips her hand under the table after we have all ordered our meals. I smile down at my napkin as I feel her warm, strong hand take hold of my own, long and ink-stained. She has never minded.

"Remarkable, wasn't it?" Gwen asks the attractive waitress. The woman nods and strokes Gwen's hair, halting to rest on the blonde-haired woman. She places her pen hand on the woman's shoulder.

"Everyone set?" she inquires, sure to catch all of our eyes. We all nod or reply in turn.

Our food is delicious when it comes. The team keeps talking about the match—high points and what they have to work on—through mouthfuls of wonderfully-cooked dishes. Hooch joins their frivolity and pounds the table ardently from time to time.

I smile and listen, touching my leg to hers as I eat. She makes no notice of it above the table but wraps her foot behind my leg—I didn't notice her slip out of her boots—and massage my calf.

I sip my gillywater as if I hadn't noticed. My cheeks will be sore tomorrow.

When dessert comes most of the team and the close supporters around them are all pretty red-faced and loose-tongued. Hooch had two firewhiskeys but masks it well. She used to drink heavily while on the team—she could hold her liquor.

There is barely even a touch of color to her cheeks as she turns to me and wraps an arm around my shoulder. I rest my head against hers.

Others around us are coupling up. I see other female couples, a few male couples, a number of heterosexual couples, and even a few pairs in which one of both of the genders were apparently debatable. It all works for me. All I need is my Hoochbird.

"We should get going," Xiomara tells the rest of the table as she squeezes my shoulder. "Albus let us go for the evening but he'll want us up and able to watch hundreds of hormonal teenagers tomorrow. A Saturday, don't you know."

"I remember Saturdays," one of the old Hogwarts students agrees with a devilish grin. She winks. "But I don't think the teenagers are the only hormonal ones."

I blush fiercely and offer a short cough into my closed hand. I feel it best not to reply, but I still can't stop smiling.

"I remember seeing this scene many times before," Gwen remarks as she rests back in her chair, her head pressing lightly into the stomach of the waitress standing behind her. "Always a different girl. Not these days.

"I'm proud of you, Hoochie," she finishes with an authentically pleased smile. She reaches forward and gives the back of Xiomara's neck and affectionate squeeze before looking up and behind her, to the face of the waitress situated behind her chair. "This is my gal."

Xiomara smiles over at the waitress—she had guessed, of course. We had all been introduced on a name basis.

"Bye Hooch, bye Minerva!" the teammates and a few supporters call out at different times. I wave and—not surprisingly—smile at them.

It appears that I'm useless to do much else.

Xiomara doesn't seem to mind, for she takes my hand gently in hers and wraps her arm around my waist.

"Let's go home, McMin," she whispers in my ear. I pretend to swoon and kiss her cheek.

"Gladly, Hoochbird."


End file.
